Seekers (by Cathy Pauline)
Chapter 3
Tricort 5 was a barren place rather closer to its sun than most beings would find comfortable. It did not rotate on its axis, but always showed the same face to its star. Most of the few dozen permanent installations were located at the boundary between light and dark sides of the planet. Only clear domes showed above the planet's surface to indicate where the settlements were located under the ground. Ki-Erin piloted their small craft smoothly toward the largest of the settlements, approaching from the dark side of the small planet. The three Jedi had agreed to land at a free settlement rather than one owned by Offworld.
Tomas had the copilot's seat, monitoring their shielding and communications. The settlement, called Permanent Sunset, was on the surface a cluster of several thousand multicolored domes in sizes ranging from a few meters to a few kilometers. As they came closer to the cluster of domes marked as the spaceport, they were greeted by a deep, accented voice.
"Welcome to Sunset Station. Please transmit identification codes and state your business."
"Transmitting." Tomas set the flagging sequence running. "We are here looking for someone who may have arrived at this planet about eight to ten hours ago. Request permission to land and investigate."
"Landing permitted. Investigation must comply with the laws of the colonies of Permanent Sunset. Public information, including arrival and departure records, can be accessed from the security station at the spaceport. Transmitting landing protocol. Do not stray from the proscribed path."
"Thank you for the information. Landing protocol recorded; initiating landing sequence... now."
They sailed in a slow arc toward the spaceport domes, glowing silver-blue in the light of the sun. A small circular portal opened in the side of the smallest dome to admit them. Inside, a portal in the floor slowly cycled open to reveal a wide tunnel curving gently under the crust of the planet. Ki-Erin had little to do but monitor their progress and make small corrections; the ship was guided in its descent by the landing protocol they'd recorded. Finally they reached a long, low landing bay. They swung slowly around the end of a long line of similarly-sized craft and settled to the floor. Ki-Erin powered down the engines and ran a quick systems check. Tomas turned to Qui-Gon.
"How circumspect do you want to be? We're in a tight spot here. This is Xanatos' territory, even if the Offworld mine is only one of three on the planet."
"I think we have to risk identifying ourselves -- or at least, identifying me." said Qui-Gon. "You and Ki-Erin, I think, should not risk giving your names. I'd rather he didn't know who is with me, and he's undoubtedly monitoring my progress..."
"What if you get into trouble?" asked Ki-Erin.
"I'll contact you. The security station will require identification; why don't you check the public terminals and the local meeting places?"
"All right," said Tomas. "We need to arrange for refueling anyway. I just hope we don't have to leave in a hurry."
*****
Ki-Erin and Tomas left Qui-Gon immediately after they exited and secured their ship. The hangar was a busy and crowded place; Qui-Gon reflected that it could easily conceal paid observers and walked warily, covertly studying his surroundings. Beings of all descriptions swarmed over the ships, repairing damage, installing extra shielding. Qui-Gon soon found the security station with directions from a public terminal; as he had expected, access to the records required identification. He registered with the guard at the entrance.
"Package here for you here, from Offworld headquarters, across planet." the guard told him, looking at his data screen. "Get it at the shipments desk."
Qui-Gon hid his surprise. He asked for a search of the docking records for Xanatos' ship, and for directions to the shipments desk. The record search was positive: Xanatos had departed from the largest Offworld base just five hours before. The shipments desk was two levels down. Thanking the guard, Qui-Gon left in search of it, wondering uneasily what Xanatos would have left for him.
The shipments desk worker was a scaly, long-armed being. She grumbled about the lack of help as she ran back and forth from desk to storage room to data screen to communicator. The package she handed to Qui-Gon was a small, lightweight shipping crate. Qui-Gon departed immediately. He couldn't shake a feeling of anxiety as he brought the package back to the ship to analyze and open it. Long experience had taught him to take such feelings seriously. Still, he decided against contacting Tomas about the package; this was something he could take care of himself.
The ship's analysis instruments could find nothing dangerous or out of the ordinary about the package. A scan for listening devices also turned up negative. Xanatos would not do something so obvious, anyway, he thought. He decided to risk opening the carton. Sitting in the center of the largest chamber, he unsealed the fastenings and lifted the lid.
The first thing he saw was Obi-Wan's long thin braid of brown hair, coiled atop a sheet of flimsiplast that hid the rest of the contents. He ducked his head and gripped the edge of the crate, suddenly thankful he had decided against contacting Tomas. No simple calming ritual would free him of this sudden anger, this feeling of impotence. With trembling fingers, he lifted braid and flimsiplast together. The sheet had a note scrawled on the reverse.
Young Obi-Wan won't be needing these at our destination.
--X
Beneath the flimsiplast were packed Obi-Wan's boots, and his belt. Qui-Gon lifted them out, then looked at what was left. His froze. Packed at the bottom of the crate was a shredded, bloody stretch of fabric, folded neatly. He lifted it, feeling his gorge rise with a sudden flood of growing anger and disgust. It was Obi-Wan's tunic, both layers.
Xanatos...!
A small stone fell from an inner pocket of the bundle of cloth. A smooth, colorful stone -- the river stone he had given to his Padawan for his thirteenth birthday. Qui-Gon drew breath, suddenly sad and certain. It was pointless to allow anger to cloud his judgement. That was, after all, what Xanatos intended with this "present" to him. Obi-Wan depended upon him. Xanatos was an obstacle to be outwitted, outmaneuvered, and hopefully brought to judgement. But Obi-Wan must come first. He dropped the stained tunic back in the crate, then tucked the stone into his own inner pocket.
He looked up, hearing the door to the chamber slide open. Tomas stood there, Ki-Erin beside him. Tomas' quick dark eyes took in carton and contents cluttering the table. His face was solemn.
"Xanatos did come here."
Qui-Gon nodded. He closed the lid on the crate, leaving his hand atop it, not wanting Ki-Erin, especially, to see what lay inside. What was out was bad enough.
"What kind of a monster is he?" she cried out, then bit her lip. Tomas put an arm around her shoulders.
"Why did he leave us Obi-Wan's things, Master Qui-Gon? To mock us?" she asked bitterly.
Qui-Gon sighed. "In part, yes. But also... he's always liked to show off his cleverness. He's left a clue," he said, holding out the flimsiplast.
Ki-Erin took the sheet from Qui-Gon's hand. She shook her head. "I don't get it. Where wouldn't he need his boots?" She looked at the table, and her eyes flashed. "And his braid?"
"It may not be a where," Tomas murmured. "It might be a role." Qui-Gon nodded.
Ki-Erin looked up at her Master. "But..."
Tomas put a hand on her arm, then turned to Qui-Gon. "We learned nothing about Xanatos in the public places, though we heard plenty about Offworld. It isn't well-regarded here, and the locals stay away from it -- they say that those who go there, whatever they're promised for pay, rarely come out again."
"Sad, but not unexpected given Offworld's common use of slave labor," said Qui-Gon. "I learned at the security station that Xanatos left the Offworld base nearly six hours ago."
"If we can figure out where he went, we can be after him before he's much farther ahead of us." Tomas turned to his Padawan. "Go find out how much longer it will be before we're fully refueled," he told her.
Ki-Erin nodded slowly, then left the chamber.
"What is it, Qui-Gon, that you don't want her to see?" Tomas asked when the door had slid closed behind her, indicating the crate that Qui-Gon still held closed.
"Xanatos left most of Obi-Wan's clothing as well," Qui-Gon told him, removing his hand from the box. Tomas frowned, then looked inside. He winced.
"It looks like he beat the boy pretty viciously," he said quietly. "To hurt you?"
"I'm sure that was part of his intent," said Qui-Gon, "But also I'm certain it's part of the clue."
"A boy wearing only trousers, striped and bruised, with his head near shorn. What kind of boy looks like that?"
"A slave of some sort."
"Qui-Gon, are you certain Xanatos isn't trying to throw you off with this 'clue'?"
"It's always possible, Tomas. But I don't think so." He lowered his face into one hand, suddenly exhausted. Tomas looked at him sympathetically.
"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon. It must be nearly as difficult seeing the monstrosities of a former Padawan who turned as it is worrying about Obi-Wan's plight."
Qui-Gon nodded, standing silently for a moment, then shook his head and started collecting Obi-Wan's things and putting them back into the crate. "We need to decide where to go next. I should contact Tahl again."
The hiss of the door signaled Ki-Erin's return. Qui-Gon had just finished re-sealing the box.
"We can leave in about an hour," she told them. "But where are we going to go?"
"Our next challenge," said Qui-Gon.
"We think Xanatos may have disguised Obi-Wan as a slave," Tomas explained to her. He turned back to Qui-Gon. "Put together with what you've already told us, this should narrow our search considerably. I'd look for a resort planet of some sort, one where the use of personal slaves is common. Ki-Erin and I can check through the database Tahl sent." He took out his datapad, on which he had loaded a copy of the annotated database that Tahl had given Qui-Gon.
"I'll ask Tahl now," said Qui-Gon, leaving for his cabin. He took the crate with him.
*****
"You're disturbed, Qui-Gon. What is it?" Tahl asked immediately, once they had established a connection and she had started the data dump of her latest research to Qui-Gon's datapad.
"Are you alone?"
"I sent Bant and Garen to the afternoon meditations, and Miro is searching from his own quarters."
Qui-Gon explained about the package Xanatos had left for him. Tahl was silent while he spoke. "Unless he means that he's taken Obi-Wan somewhere exceptionally warm, I think he intends to use him as a slave. Tomas agrees with me," Qui-Gon finished
"That seems the most fitting explanation. You said Obi-Wan's tunic was shredded in the back, and bloodstained?"
Qui-Gon winced, and nodded.
"Where in the galaxy do slave drivers still use physical whips, instead of electrowhips? They can't be too common any longer."
Qui-Gon looked at Tahl in grateful admiration. She had hit on something important, he was certain. "Can you figure that out?"
"It will take a more complicated search than just for slavery... Our records on the Rim Worlds are far from complete," she told him, as she keyed in some instructions on her touchpad. "But I'll get some inquiries out to my contacts right away."
"What can you give me now? I can help you search. I don't want Xanatos to get too far ahead, and we'll be refueled any time now. I want to make a decision about where to go next."
"If you go in the wrong direction," Tahl told him, "you'll lose more time than if you sit tight and make an informed choice."
"I realize that, but I was hoping if we could narrow it down significantly..."
"Unfortunately, the galaxy is a big place, and not so much of it is civilized. I just ran a check for all worlds where slavery is still practiced. Four thousand, two hundred and ninety-one known planets, satellites, and installations." Qui-Gon groaned. "Cross-reference that with the Offworld sites -- doesn't help very much, Offworld uses slave labor as a matter of course. No, I'm afraid we need more information, and more detailed information. I'll check this against the list of contacts and business deals I've been compiling, Qui-Gon, but I'm afraid it's going to take a while, even with help."
"No one is better at this than you, Tahl."
"Qui-Gon... we will catch up with Xanatos."
"I know it. I'm just worried..."
"About Obi-Wan."
"Yes."
"Obi-Wan is brave and strong and clever. Trust him."
"That won't protect him from Xanatos' cruelty. It won't protect him from death."
"In the end, it's not the pain and fear that will matter, but how he copes with it."
"Right now that's not much comfort," Qui-Gon said sharply.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." He sighed. "Your caring is a great comfort, Tahl."
Qui-Gon signed off, unhappy that he was no closer to choosing their next destination.
*****
"We need more information," Tomas said when Qui-Gon reported his conversation with Tahl in the main cabin. "I'm thinking our time here would be better spent getting new leads from local Offworld people than paging through piles of data. Let's leave the data mining to Tahl, she's best at it."
"So we go to the Offworld base?" Ki-Erin asked.
"I doubt that will be necessary," said Qui-Gon. "Offworld's guards and higher-ups must come here, to the main settlement, at least sometimes. Most likely they have a local place they visit regularly. If we can find out where that is..."
"Let's do it," said Tomas. He turned to Ki-Erin. "I want you to stay here, access the local news feed, filter through it for clues."
"But --"
"I expect we'll be going to some rough places. A fourteen-year-old girl is going to be conspicuous."
"All right," she grumbled.
Tomas smiled fondly at her. "I'd take you if it made any sense to do so," he told her. She managed a lopsided smile for him.
"Let's go," said Tomas, turning to Qui-Gon, who nodded. The two left together through the hatch, locking it behind them.
Though it was officially nighttime in the settlement, the hangar bay was busy. Spaceports usually were: traders and carriers rarely timed their arrivals to come during local waking hours. Space travel was their life; they did not waste their time with such luxuries as sleep-cycle adjustment. Tomas and Qui-Gon sought out a uniformed security guard, and soon found one patrolling the area near the lifts, looking bored.
"Excuse me," Tomas called out. The guard, a furry Ritanian female with brightly painted claws, looked them over with relaxed interest. "I was hoping you could help us."
"What's up?"" she asked.
"We're conducting an investigation into the criminal activities of a being with known connections to Offworld. We would like to speak with some Offworld people. Could you tell me where we could find some at this settlement?"
The female laughed. "Oh, they're all criminals at Offworld." Then she turned serious. "I can tell you where they go for drinks and talk here. They all congregate at one bar: pilots, guards, managers. But you gotta understand: these people are dangerous, and we have to live with them. Go stirring things up, and you might find yourselves in hot water, more than the security corps could get involved with, if you understand my meaning."
"Thank you for the warning," said Tomas. "I can promise you we will be discreet."
The guard nodded, tilting her head in a friendly fashion. "You'll find them at Levko's Bar and Grill. It's in the fifteenth district, C Level. You can reach it by taking the blue repulsor train north to the orange west; exit at the second orange stop."
"Thank you," said Qui-Gon.
"Be careful, all right? You two are rather good-looking for humans, be a pity to lose you." She bared her teeth in what the two men took to be a smile.
Tomas grinned good-naturedly and gave a mocking bow. Qui-Gon only raised his eyebrows and snorted, amused, making the guard laugh. Together they headed for the lifts down to transport level.
It was a clean and orderly settlement, though bare and sparse, built for efficiency not aesthetics. There was little to see, in any case, in the transport tunnels. But Qui-Gon admired the sense he got of these hard-working people. They did the best they could with what little they had.
Fifteenth district, however, was an exception to the rule. Where people in the other districts they passed through talked and smiled and went about their business, the people here were brash and loud. Drunken yells pierced the air in the dim sleep-cycle lit domespace outside the station. Trash and refuse littered the walkways.
They found Levko's easily enough. A brightly lit sign extended over the walkway. The doorway was crowded with chatting spacers, all carrying weapons. The two men pushed through, Tomas watching his friend's back, alert and at ease, as Qui-Gon threaded his way across the room, apparently heading for a table at the rear of the establishment. About halfway there, he stopped as if changing his mind, and gestured to a table whose occupants were just leaving. Tomas nodded. He, too, had seen the Offworld insignia on the unisuit of the freighter crewman beside them. He backed up, letting another being pass, and "accidentally" bumped the crewman's mug so his alcohol spilled on the floor.
The male's crest lifted stiff on his head; he snarled and leaped to his feet. Tomas spun around, looking apologetic. "So sorry! Let me buy you another, friend!" He passed his hand unobtrusively before his chest, sending an eddy in the Force to influence the crewman's mind.
"All right, all right, no harm done I suppose." The crewman banged his now-empty mug on the table and waved for service.
"You don't mind if we join you?" asked Qui-Gon, also with the Force behind his question.
"Sure, sure," snarled the largest of the three, also with an Offworlder badge, they saw now. The third, a tall female of the same species unknown to Qui-Gon, moved her chair to make room for them to sit down between her and the first crewman.
"My name is Qui-Gon, and my clumsy friend here is Tomas," Qui-Gon told them as they sat down.
"Chervis," said the first crewman, who had lost his drink to Tomas' maneuver. "Gretna --" he pointed to the female -- "and Derzig." Derzig was the larger male.
"And what brings you to this lonely outpost?" asked Tomas.
"Iron ore and bodrite, what else?" laughed Chervil, seeming to think this funny.
"We transport the raw ore to processing plants on Esmerine," explained Gretna. "And you?"
"Looking for a good source of processed bodrite." Tomas gave the explanation he and Qui-Gon had settled on during their train ride. He and Ki-Erin had read some about the bodrite trade in the local media. "But the prices we've been given are high."
"Kerden plant always charges high. They have to, do their processing here, on this light-forsaken rock." Derzig's voice was low and growling. He watched as Chervis took a deep swig of his newly arrived swill. At least, it was that pungent and foul-smelling, Qui-Gon thought.
"Prices seem to be going up everywhere," Tomas shook his head. "Our employer will not be pleased."
"Nephrolite," said Gretna. "It's needed to process the bodrite. As long as the Melians have a corner on the market, they can up the prices if they want."
"I heard we're getting a new source, soon," said Chervis conspiratorially. He turned to Tomas. "Offworld's got smarts in management," he said. "You can bet they'll get the stuff that's needed."
"Bodrite just piling up in the warehouses," growled Derzig. "Better get their arses in gear, or we won't have nowhere to put this next load."
"Where they getting it, Chervis?" asked Gretna. "I hadn't heard."
"Don't know. Overheard the higher-ups in the lift at the plant."
Derzig snorted. Qui-Gon lifted the mug he had ordered as he listened; but he immediately changed his mind about drinking. The stuff smelt truly foul.
"Maybe we can get what we need at Esmerine, then," said Tomas hopefully to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon shrugged as if doubtful.
Gretna was eyeing her chrono. "Loading set to finish in twenty minutes. We gotta go or miss our timetable."
Derzig set down his mug with a grimace. "Blasted loaders gonna be late anyway," he muttered. Still, all three stood from the table.
"I'll clear your tab for the lum," Tomas reassured Chervis. "My fault, after all."
"Thanks," waved Chervis. "Good hunting." Tomas grinned back, and Qui-Gon nodded. They sat for a while longer, listening to the talk around them. They saw no other obvious Offworlders. Finally, hearing nothing more of interest, they paid and left.
*****
"Well, there's a lead at least," said Tomas when they were alone in a repulsor car heading back to the spaceport.
"Nephrolite," Qui-Gon agreed. "Xanatos needs it."
"Not easy to find, either, if I remember," mused Tomas. "I bet Tahl could get us a pretty short list of the viable sources."
Qui-Gon nodded, leaning back in his seat, his head resting against the transport wall. He felt weary -- not bodily, but mentally, spiritually.
"Qui-Gon," said Tomas quietly. "You've got to stop punishing yourself. I know you feel responsible for what's happened --"
"I keep thinking of Obi-Wan," said Qui-Gon in a low voice. "When Xanatos took him... I keep seeing him fall, and I'm too far to stop Xanatos from taking him... the red blade across Obi-Wan's neck... my heart nearly stopped, Tomas." He looked out the windows at the darkness of the tunnel. "Obi-Wan trusts me. He said, 'I will wait for you to come for me'. Like there was no doubt in the world that I would, that I could."
"And you will," said Tomas, his voice low with intensity. "And we'll help you."
"What will he suffer in the meantime, Tomas? How much pain to pay for my foolishness? For indulging my anger? How could I have been so blind to the danger!" His voice had lowered to a harsh whisper.
Tomas sat down on the bench next to Qui-Gon, put a hand on his arm. "We are not saints but seekers," he said. "You were always proud, Qui-Gon." Qui-Gon made an angry noise, and Tomas understood. "Anger at yourself will poison you as surely as anger at Xanatos. Will you cripple yourself, and fail the boy?"
Qui-Gon sat forward, anger still tight in him; but he knew Tomas was right.
"You have the strength to accept the pain of your own failures. What is important is what you learn from your mistakes, what you do in the future."
"Obi-Wan is suffering for my mistakes. What kind of justice is that?"
"No, Qui-Gon, that kind of thinking will only lead you to darkness. It is Xanatos who is hurting the boy, Xanatos who is responsible for those crimes. We will stop him, and we will bring him to justice. But you must stop blaming yourself for what he does!"
Qui-Gon sat in silence.
"You know I'm right."
"He's such an eager, caring boy. I've never told him so."
"You will."
Qui-Gon drew a long, shuddering breath, then sat up straight. The repulsor train was pulling into the spaceport station. "Time to contact Tahl," he said. They stood together, in silence, and stepped to the platform, their robes close around them. Behind them the doors closed and the train glided away. Qui-Gon put a hand on Tomas' shoulder.
"Thank you, Tomas."
"I've always been glad to call you friend, Qui-Gon. That's never changed."
Qui-Gon looked to his friend's eyes. "I'm glad you're here."